


Our Minds Were Children

by Yelposaurus



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Colours, Death, Growing Old, Introspection, Love, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates, graves, just an idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22652185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yelposaurus/pseuds/Yelposaurus
Summary: Our minds were children back then, frolicking around this world after finally being set free, happy and ignorant and oh sosinfullystupid.But we've both grown older now, I think.And possibly, in a few months or years or decades on from now, I'll look back at who I was when we were together, compare the life I showed you and the life I really lived and thinkGod, what a coward.
Kudos: 1





	Our Minds Were Children

**Author's Note:**

> It's cheesy, I know.

When I first saw you, my vision was splattered with colours I didn't even know existed.

You walked in, the bell above the squeaky door ringing in its innocent little trill.  
You sat down alone at a table for two, your shoes leaving footprints of colour that stained the tiles as you stepped, left them interesting, kept them bright.

And when the waiter stood close to your table and asked you what you would like, you opened your mouth-

And suddenly colours were everywhere.

They fell out of your eyes, your ears, your mouth, dribbled from your bag, slipped through the cracks in the windows and the doors - all these colours that I don't know the name of, that I don't know how to describe.  
They filled that cafe the two of us shared, stealing our breath from our throats and the weight from our bones. 

And then you stopped talking, the waiter turning away, colours dripping off her clothes.  
You went back to focusing on your work, fingers leaving little taps of colour wherever they touched the keys. 

I sat there, almost opposite you, drinking from an overflowing cup as you went _clack clack clack_ with your computer.  
The colours began to fade, the wondrous _rush_ of a monster that swallowed everything away having spat me back out, soaked through with colours I had once believed I couldn't ever begin to imagine.

How naive of me, thinking those thoughts when someone like you existed only a few worlds from mine, only a few floors away in this up-down elevator we all seemed to be chained to.

I guess I just thought that you could be the one who would press the button for me, open my elevator doors and help me loosen the shackles just enough so that we could go up together, free from anything we once thought could ever touch us. 

_I didn't know that I would be chained to you instead._

Or maybe I did, maybe back then I thought _that wouldn't be so bad._

Our minds were children back then, frolicking around this world after finally being set free, happy and ignorant and oh so _sinfully_ stupid.  
But we've both grown older now, I think. 

I hope.  
And maybe we haven't reached a turning point yet, maybe we are still slightly ignorant, still a little stupid, and maybe only a little happy every now and then.  
But we've still grown, lost some but maybe gained a little more. 

And possibly, in a few months or years or decades on from now, I'll look back at who I was when we were together, compare the life I showed you and the life I really lived and think _God, what a coward I was back then._  
Maybe I'll laugh and joke about you and me and how we felt and what we did together like it's some sad story that might just get an okay ending, if only it's lucky. 

Maybe I'll be with you again, seeing all those colours I might only think of in those dreams I never remember, tasting flavours in spectrums that my horrible cooking could never recreate.  
Hearing sweet words that mimic your voice so cruelly it makes my heart hurt deep down inside my chest. 

But now my heart hurts in a way that makes me curl up, hunch over and maybe cry a little, trying to hide from something I don't think I want to talk about. 

But you're still why it stutters, and maybe sometimes stops, so don't worry. 

You've made my heart hurt in a way that turns the world grey.  
I don't see those colours anymore, don't taste those flavours or hear your words, not when I sit in that café you walking into all those day, months, _years_ ago.  
I don't feel them anywhere. 

Not now. 

Even your grave looks grey, the flowers wilting in front of it looking slightly dead. 

Ironic, right? 

You've made my world go grey now that you're gone. Now that you're dead and six feet under, all your colours and flavours and words down there with you.  


With you, you and your _childish_ little mind.


End file.
